Mr_Jay

By: Mr_Jay

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Chapter 44: Deception

Gima sat on a rock, crying like a child. Her little nose twitched and sniffled as tears streamed down her face. She wasn’t faking it entirely; the wound on her forearm genuinely hurt.

But the pain was worth it to cultivate the right image in George’s mind. If George had seen her leading a goblin 'porter' on a leash, let alone chopping off its fingers for her own safety, he wouldn’t have said anything, but he would have surely grown distant. And how was she supposed to play with the damn virgin’s emotions then?

George’s iron gauntlet began to glow with a warm light as he gently touched the wound on Gima’s forearm. A familiar warmth washed away the pain, and the wound vanished instantly. Gima squeezed her arm. Not a single mark remained.

George asked gently, “Does it still hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

“Anywhere else?”

Gima bent down, undid the laces of her leather shoe, and gently slipped out her white-stockinged foot. Her ankle was swollen like a small bun.

“It hurts. A lot,” Gima said, her eyes welling with tears.

George knelt, slowly reaching out his hand.

Her pristine, fleshy tail rested against the elegant curve of her calf, brushing lightly against her ankle with the whisper of rustling silk.

Gima could feel George’s gaze grow hotter. With a flick of her tail’s tip, she tapped his iron gauntlet and said timidly, “Can you take off the gauntlet? It’s too hard. I’m afraid it’ll hurt.”

“I’ll just be touching it. The gauntlet won’t hurt,” George said.

“But…” Gima’s eyes shimmered with tears as she looked up at him pitifully.

They say, even the hardest armor has its soft spots, so George sighed. “Alright.”

He pulled off the funnel-shaped gauntlet, revealing a rough, calloused hand. Gima took the liberty of placing her tiny foot in his palm. Through the thin silk of her stocking, she could feel the coarseness of his skin.

A ticklish sensation spread from the sole of her foot, and Gima’s heart couldn’t help but beat a little faster.

George’s palm lit up with white light again, and a warm current flowed into the delicate sole of her foot. It was a warm, tingly feeling that sent heat spreading through Gima’s lower abdomen. She was reminded of the day he had spanked her, and how he had healed her bottom just like this.

It had been so humiliating then.

A blush crept up the back of her ears, and she bit her lower lip gently.

I… I will spank your bottom raw, just you wait, Gima thought, her face flushed pink.

The pain in her ankle melted away, leaving only the itch of a healing wound. Gima stretched her foot out in comfort, the sole rubbing against George’s rough palm, a tickle that reached deep into the girl’s heart. But George promptly withdrew his hand, showing no sign of lingering on her foot.

The warm white light faded. George stood up, once again a cold, steel figure.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked, his tone calm.

Gima was abruptly pulled back to the cold, dark cave. She instantly composed herself, only then noticing the strange sensitivity in her body. Why was her calf so… responsive?

She didn’t answer, instead sniffing the air. Sure enough, there was the wonderful scent of peach blossoms. It wasn’t as strong as she had imagined, but it was enough to fill her stomach and tasted quite good.

Gima’s mood brightened instantly. She wanted to say: It still hurts. Hold my ankle so you can heal it more thoroughly please.

But she was afraid the lie would provoke George’s disgust. So, she lifted her little pink face and said, “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

She bent down to put on her shoe. The feeling of his touch still lingered on her foot, a little itchy, a little warm. She wiggled her toes, tied the laces, and stood up, humming a tuneless little song as she picked up the backpack from the ground and slung it over her shoulder. Some of the straps on the backpack had been torn, and a few gashes revealed the contents within.

“Did the goblins try to take this backpack?” George asked, holding up his oil lamp. “On my way here, I saw a group of them fighting amongst themselves.”

“I twisted my ankle when I fell,” Gima said, hugging George’s sword as she spoke in fits and starts. “They… they smelled me and chased after me, so I… I threw the backpack down and hid. They started stabbing each other to get the gold coins.”

Gima was a little nervous. She hated this topic. If George found out she was lying, he would surely despise her, and all her hard work acting cute would be for nothing. And she couldn’t even lie properly.

“Then how did you get Strong’s shortsword?”

Gima was silent for a moment, an expression of painful recollection on her face. “He… he fell to the ground, so I took the chance to grab the sword, but I couldn’t bear to leave the backpack…”

She couldn’t continue. Any more and she’d expose herself.

George, however, assumed Gima was reliving a traumatic experience.

That goblin was cunning, he thought. It must have begged for mercy. Gima, being soft-hearted, let it carry the backpack. But it was just looking for a chance to ambush her. Since its fingers were cut off in the infighting, it tried to kill her with its teeth.

The more George thought about it, the more terrified he became. If he had been even a little later, he might have only found... Gima’s corpse.

At the same time, George was a bit puzzled. For goblins to kill each other over a single bag of gold until only one was left seemed a bit too bizarre. But seeing the haunted look on Gima’s face, he didn’t ask.

This child, at such a young age, has already endured a darkness and bloodshed that no one her age should. Sigh, I shouldn’t provoke her.

George patted Gima’s head. “I understand,” he said.

Understood what?

Gima’s tail swished back and forth nervously behind her legs.

“It’s all in the past now. Try to look forward,” George said, managing to find some words of encouragement. “Don’t think about it too much. The future is bright.”

Is that your attempt at comforting someone?

Gima breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. “Mm.”

With her tool, George, back by her side, the rest of the journey was much easier.

Gima watched leisurely as George diligently cleared the path of goblins ahead. She felt more and more that this was how a succubus should live: trick a fool into doing all the work for you, relaxing and taking it easy. On the surface, she was George’s slave, but in reality, he was at her beck and call.

She was truly happy.

“Gima, come wipe the sword.”

“Coming.”

Gima trotted over, skillfully pulled out a cloth, carefully wiped the blood from the blade, and handed the sword back to George with a smile.

“I wonder how Lady Liz is doing.” George continued to lead the way, an oil lamp hanging from his chest.

“It doesn’t matter if she’s been kidnapped,” Gima said. “As her companions, we can use the opportunity of providing clues to build connections with the upper class.”

“I’m worried about her safety.”

“Can’t you see she only invited you so she could enjoy watching her suitors fight over her? It’s like watching dog fights, except in her case, it’s three simping dogs.”

“Gima, you always assume the worst in people,” George said. “She’s just a bit vain.”

“I wonder which noble family she belongs to,” Gima said, though she already had a suspicion about Liz’s identity.

“The Great Good Master?”

“Let’s hope the Great Good Master doesn’t know what you look like, but…” Gima said, “According to Gregory, if we don’t use the portal, we’ll be spotted by his spies the moment we leave White City. His intelligence is so good, he probably knows what you look like.”

George frowned, unwilling to give up this rare opportunity. “I often wear my bucket helm; very few people know my face. He might not be able to recognize me from a verbal description, and there will be many people at the banquet. As long as we’re careful, we won’t run into him.”

“Alright, you’re the boss.”

Gima didn’t care. With George’s current Gold-rank strength, he was more than capable of fighting their way out of the banquet, even without concealing his identity.

The familiar gaping hole appeared before them once again.

Rubble had fallen from above, forming a small hill of stones. The hill was crawling with goblins, as well as a larger, taller humanoid monster.

They looked like goblins, apperantly short and stocky, but they were actually taller than most adult men and nearly twice as wide. They wore well-made lamellar armor, carried shields, and brandished heavy battle-axes in their other hands, roaring savagely.

Hobgoblins, also known as bugbears. These creatures were far more lethal than goblins. They were mercenaries who had learned combat skills in their line of work, and combined with their natural brute strength, their deadliness was on another level.

The ones unfortunate enough to be besieged by the hobgoblins and goblins were none other than Liz and the red-haired Strong. They had been forced out from the forest of stone stalagmites where they had been hiding.

“Get her! We want her! She’s our target! Don’t worry about injuring her, as long as she’s alive. Near-death is fine, I have healing potions.”

A man in black stood at the edge of the hole, pointing excitedly, seemingly savoring a rare chance to speak.

A bugbear immediately charged at Liz, roaring as it swung its axe down from the stone hill. Liz was stunned, staring blankly at it. The wand in her hand faltered.

“Watch out!”

The red-haired Strong knocked over several goblins blocking his path and slammed into the bugbear’s side, knocking it down. He plunged his sword, wreathed in flames, into its neck.

He roared, “Didn’t expect this, did you? I prepared two swords!”

“Look out!” Liz shouted.

An axe flew toward Strong. He instinctively raised his small shield to block, but it wasn’t enough. The axe struck his side, and he collapsed to the ground.

The bugbear ignored the red-haired Strong and charged straight for Liz, raising its thick arm.

Then, it died.

George had charged in, cleaving its head clean off with one swing. With a backhand stroke, he split another bugbear from its hand to its head.

The tide of battle turned in an instant.

The goblins cried for their supposed mothers and fathers and scattered in all directions. The bugbears tried to attack together, but none could withstand more than a few of George’s blows. It looked as if they were lining up to be slaughtered.

By the time George had thrust his sword into the heart of the sixth bugbear, no one dared to challenge the blade in his hand. The surviving goblins all vanished into the dark caves.

The red-haired Strong stared blankly at the corpses surrounding George.

“Where the hell did you come from?!” the man in black shouted at George from the edge of the hole. “Let me give you a piece of advice: you’ve made a powerful enemy. You’ll regret this later!”

“Oh my, about to run away?” Gima’s voice rang out. The man in black followed the sound and saw Gima hiding behind George, smugly giving him the middle finger.

George charged forward, bent down to pick up a short spear, and hurled it at the man in black. The man waved his hand, and a curtain of water surrounding him deflected the spear. With another pull of his hand, the water turned into a staircase of ice. He ran up the steps, heading for the second floor, shouting as he went, “Just you wait, we’ll meet again—”

Before he could finish, an arrow shot out from a corner and struck him under the chin, piercing through into his brain. He stared with wide eyes, his lips trembling as if trying to finish his sentence with his last breath. The man in black’s body tumbled down the ice stairs and fell into the hole.

A figure walked to the edge of the hole. It was the poet, Disha.

He jumped down from the hole and walked toward them. A gold coin tumbled between his fingers, from his thumb to his little finger, then with a flick, it flew into the air with a tink. He caught the falling coin with one hand and bowed to Liz in apology.

“Lady Liz. I am so sorry I couldn’t save you in time. To let a beautiful lady be chased by such cruel and disgusting little monsters is a terrible crime. I have avenged you. I hope you can accept my apology.”

Liz’s face instantly broke into a radiant smile. “Please, don’t worry about it. It was all a despicable plot by Deepwater City.”

Gima just wanted to whistle. It was clear that the poet Disha understood the true nature of this adventure: being able to fight wasn’t important, being able to grovel was what mattered most.

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